"You look tired."
"I am tired." I lean into him. "But I'm happy."
His arm tightens around me. His lips brush my temple.
"Me too," he murmurs. "I didn't think I could be. But I am."
I think about my father. About the possibility of rebuilding something that was broken.
I hope we can. I hope he stays sober. I hope he remembers that he has children who love him, who need him, who haven't given up on him yet.
But if he doesn't—if he falls again—I won't let it destroy me this time.
I have my own family now. My husband. My baby. The Sartoris who have become my brothers and sisters.
I am not alone anymore.
Aria appears beside us, her eyes bright with excitement.
"We need to discuss the nursery," she announces. "I have ideas. Many ideas. Carmela and I have been talking, and we think?—"
"Mamma," Bruno interrupts. "She's eight weeks pregnant. We have time."
"Time flies! Before you know it, the baby will be here and nothing will be ready. We need to plan. We need to prepare. We need?—"
"We need to let Antonella rest," Bruno says firmly. "She's been through enough."
Aria's expression softens. She reaches up to cup my cheek.
"Of course. Of course. Rest, my daughter. We'll talk tomorrow."
She kisses my forehead. Then Bruno's. Then she's gone, pulling Carmela toward the kitchen to discuss colour schemes.
Bruno shakes his head.
"She's going to be insufferable for the next months."
"She's excited."
"She's insane."
"She loves you."
He sighs. "I know."
I rest my head against his shoulder. The room buzzes with conversation around us. Laughter and voices and the clink of glasses.
My family.
I close my eyes and let the happiness wash over me.
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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Dante
